


Operation TLC

by tidal_race



Category: Leverage
Genre: F/M, Families of Choice, Found Family, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 06:47:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5407025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tidal_race/pseuds/tidal_race
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even on crutches, Eliot managed to stomp menacingly all the way into the building, all the way into the elevator, and all the way up the stairs from the office space to the living space.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Operation TLC

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shenshen77](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shenshen77/gifts).



> This one is for shenshen77(obishenshenobi). Merry Christmas, darling!
> 
> Thank you to bethanyactually for just the kind of beta job I needed.
> 
> Set at some indeterminate point in the future.

Even on crutches, Eliot managed to stomp menacingly all the way into the building, all the way into the elevator, and all the way up the stairs from the office space to the living space. Parker and Hardison couldn’t help the snickers that escaped as he spun on his good foot and threw himself backwards onto the couch as though he was disgusted with the entire world. They could practically see the storm cloud rumbling over his head. 

The entire time they’d been getting X-rays and picking up prescriptions, Eliot had been acting like a grumpy cat that had missed his jump and was mad at you for witnessing it. And at some point in the future it would be a funny story, though only one for Nate and Sophie. It probably shouldn’t get out that a world-class hitter and retrieval specialist had TRIPPED over an overly affectionate _Lhasa Apso_. 

They hadn’t even been on the job. The job had been over. They’d just finished with the clients and had been walking through their gated front yard to the van. Eliot had been busy being annoyed by something Hardison was saying, trying to get a word in edgewise about why Hardison was absolutely not going to do the thing he was talking about doing, and the dog had shot across the yard, afraid that its new favorite person in the world was leaving, and tangled itself in Eliot’s legs. Distracted and already having slotted the dog into the ‘no threat’ part of his subconscious, Eliot hadn’t realized what was happening until it was too late. In an effort to avoid stepping on it he’d twisted too far on one leg, lost his center of gravity, and wrenched his ankle sending himself in a direction that wouldn’t crush the damn thing when he fell. 

Only because Parker and Hardison knew him so well had they caught the slight hesitation as he’d tested his ankle when he stood. He’d made his own way to the van, but instead of getting in the driver’s side, he wrenched the passenger door open. At that point, it had simply been a matter of breaking the cold wrap out of the first aid kit and finding an ER in the next town over. After Eliot had been diagnosed with a sprained ankle, prescribed pain pills and ibuprofen, and sent on his way with care instructions he knew in his sleep, he hadn’t said a word the whole two hours it had taken to drive home. Apparently, Parker and Hardison’s barely-hidden laughter was one indignity too far.

“Are you _laughing_ at me?” Eliot asked in a tone that would have been a warning to anyone else. 

“No, no, man, we’re laughing _with_ you,” Hardison said as Parker broke away from his side to head for the kitchen with Eliot’s bag of prescriptions in her hand. The painkillers weren’t that high a dosage; just enough to take the edge off, and Eliot might even be talked into taking them. He’d take the anti-inflammatory at least. Eliot wasn’t a very good patient, but he was good at taking care of his injuries. He had to be in his line of work. Pushing himself in the field was one thing, but anything that healed wrong was one more weakness. Parker could be heard raiding the freezer for the meals Eliot kept there these days, knowing that his partners would never give up their love of the microwave. 

Eliot’s glare sharpened.

“We’re laughing with _future you_ ,” Hardison hurried to explain.

“Yeah, well, future me is going to kick your ass,” Eliot replied. 

“Babe, I have no doubt you could kick my ass even with a sprained ankle, don’t worry,” Hardison assured him.

“Thought fighting the injured was your niche,” Eliot shot back.

Hardison rolled his eyes and deadpanned, “Ha, ha, you’re hilarious.” He slid his computer bag off his shoulder and grabbed one of pillows on the couch (something Sophie had sent them) and settled it on the coffee table. He pulled the table out so that Eliot had room to raise his leg before sliding it back under the injured ankle. Both of them glared at each other through the process. 

Hardison still reached out and squeezed Eliot’s shoulder as he passed him to join Parker in the kitchen. A few years ago, he wouldn’t have dared. Not because he thought Eliot would actually hurt him -- _okay, hurt him badly_ \-- but because it would have seemed like the best thing to do was leave Eliot alone to return to his normal levels of aggravation. Sometimes, it still was. But right now, Eliot was hurting and embarrassed more than he was actually angry. Parker and Hardison had already agreed not to take his mood personally, even if they had to work around it.

Once Eliot couldn’t see him anymore, he let his expression clear, grinning at Parker. Operation TLC was a go. It wasn’t often they got to turn the tables and take care of Eliot, who was ridiculously romantic even if he wasn’t showy about it. Occasionally, it was gifts, flowers, and nice dinners, but more often it was little things, like bringing home coffee after his morning run, or singing a half-conscious but still wired Hardison to sleep after a marathon session at the computer (Hardison had removed the word pitchy from his vocabulary years ago), or keeping a cabinet of cereal stocked just for Parker. Hardison knew that just being there, being themselves, and trusting Eliot was enough for the other man, and that he got his reward in seeing them enjoy the things he did and in being able to do them for someone, but it was still nice to be able to turn the tables once in awhile. And in this case, Eliot wasn’t seriously injured. It was a moderately severe sprain, but was unlikely to permanently weaken the ankle, especially with the shape Eliot kept himself in. Added to that, it had happened in the most mundane way. Neither Parker nor Hardison would have chosen for Eliot to get hurt, but under the circumstances they weren’t going to feel guilty making the best of it either. 

Parker was heating up some of the stew that Eliot had made last week from odds and ends that had been leftover from other recipes. Hardison’s grin widened when he saw that she’d even turned on the oven, preheating it for the rolls Eliot had frozen to go with it. It was probably cheating, feeding the man’s own food back to him in the course of Operation TLC, but that was actually more caring than trying to cook up anything themselves. They weren’t quite as hopeless in the kitchen as they pretended to be, but they weren’t Eliot either. 

“You know, an ice pack might be useful!” Eliot grumbled from the other room. 

Parker winked at Hardison, tossing him the ice pack from where it had been sitting next to the rolls, already wrapped in a clean hand towel. Sometimes it was easier to let Eliot think certain things had been his idea. She’d gotten a little more sympathetic to injury after she’d torn her own ACL. Though sometimes she still poked at Eliot’s bruises for old times sake, just because she could. 

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’ keep your pants on,” Hardison said as he carried the ice pack out to the couch. 

Eliot smirked at him as he handed it over. “That’s not what you said last night.” 

This time, when Hardison rolled his eyes it was for real. He was, however, glad to see that Eliot had settled further into the couch, clearly intending to stay there for awhile. All four steps of RICE had now been accomplished with minimal fuss. 

While Eliot positioned the ice pack around his ankle, Hardison fished the remote out of the chair it had been left in when they’d taken off last week for the latest job. He sat down on the couch and clicked the big screen on, trying not to look triumphant when Eliot reached over and grabbed the remote out of his hand. 

“We’re watching the games I missed before somebody ruins ‘em for me,” Eliot said. 

Hardison held up his hands in surrender. “Far be it for me to come between a man and his watching a bunch of other sweaty men in tight pants tackle each other.”

“I think you’re confusing real life with your porn folder again, Hardison,” Eliot shot back. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Hardison muttered. He snatched his laptop out of his bag and pretended to be engrossed in whatever he was doing. He’d have gone to help Parker in the kitchen, but she had a thing about seeing just how much she could carry all at once after watching otherwise normal waitstaff do it. He’d only be getting her way. Besides, food was kind of her and Eliot’s thing. If getting comfortable pressed him up against Eliot’s side, that was purely a coincidence and one he was clearly too distracted to notice or correct. Sometimes, if Eliot was in a bad mood he still liked to pretend that he wasn’t secretly a goddamn octopus. 

When Parker came out with the food, she was staring at the tray it was on as though she was personally offended that everything managed to fit on it, including three glasses of milk and the two prescription bottles. Hardison smiled fondly at her over his shoulder. She set the tray on the table and then held out the prescription bottles to Eliot. He accepted them without comment, popping off the lids and shaking a pill from each before handing them back. Hardison had expected at least some cajoling would be required when it came to the pain medication. But then, Parker had her resolve face on. The one that meant she had a PLAN, and you did not argue with THE PLAN. She didn’t use it very often, particularly on Eliot, but it came with the Mastermind package.  The fact that he stopped to inspect them before accepting the glass of milk Parker held out wasn’t insulting. 

Hardison thought about all the ways that they could sabotage a pharmacy if they were so inclined. But Hardison had used a burner alias like he did whenever one of them had to see a doctor or go to the hospital or even the dentist. Just how in-depth they were depended on the level of scrutiny they needed to withstand, but all of them had top-notch insurance and all of them only got used once. If worst came to worst, Parker was always capable of stealing the medication they needed and there were always private doctors who could be bought, but that came with its own consequences and risk. Mostly it was easier to do things the mundane way. That Eliot would even take the pills at all when they’d been out of his sight after the pharmacy spoke all the trust it needed to. Parker made sure that Eliot saw her blinding, self-satisfied smile when he’d taken the glass she’d held out and swallowed both pills.

Hardison felt the corners of his own mouth tugging up. It was impossible not to respond when Parker smiled like that. It was like watching the sun. He knew that Eliot had a weakness for it too, despite all his protests. He was happiest when they were happy. Sure, they squabbled like three-year-olds sometimes, and Eliot took his fair share of pleasure in winding one or both of them up, but that didn’t mean that wasn’t part of being happy. Having someone you knew was yours to annoy for the long haul was all part of the dream. 

Parker settled on Eliot’s other side, careful not to jostle him as she curled her legs underneath her, pressing her knees into his thigh. She already had a bowl of stew in her hand, her roll perched on top. Hardison put his computer out of the way and handed Eliot a bowl before taking his own. Eliot seemed to be content as he ate and watched the game, the tension in his shoulders slowly draining away, the little thundercloud over his head dissipating.  Parker occasionally made a noise of approval or disapproval at the TV. She didn’t really watch football to watch football. Instead, she passed the time critiquing the movement of the players. Hardison had a few teams that piqued his interest, but this wasn’t one of them, so when he was done eating, he grabbed his laptop again. When everyone was finished, he quietly took their bowls and glasses and carried the tray back into the kitchen. He made sure to open the door to the dishwasher extra loudly and be none too subtle about rinsing the bowls in the sink first so Eliot would know he was putting everything in the dishwasher ‘right damn now’ and that he was ‘doing it right, I don’t care what the manual says.’ 

When he was done, he eyed the fridge speculatively. One beer wouldn’t hurt Eliot, and it was football. It was one of those things for Eliot. They were home, safe, and it might make him a little drowsy, but that was an acceptable risk here. Their backup plans to their backup plans had backup plans and they’d safeguarded their home as much as their considerable talents would allow without arousing suspicion. Still, he should probably ask, in case Eliot decided he shouldn’t have one. It would be cruel to put it in front of him if that was the case. 

The answer was _hell yes_ from Eliot, and “Make popcorn!” from Parker. 

Football games were a lot shorter when you could fast forward through commercials and half-time, but Eliot’s eyes had still started to droop by the time they made it through the second game. It hadn’t been one of their tougher jobs, but they had had to move quickly. Nobody had gotten much sleep. When Eliot pushed the remote in Parker’s direction and said to pick a movie she chose one that she knew that Eliot liked enough to be a distraction, but wouldn’t keep him awake if he started to drift because he’d already seen it. She clicked off the light for good measure. Movies were always better in the dark anyway. 

Halfway through, Hardison put his laptop aside. By the end, he had his arm along the back of the couch and Eliot’s head had tipped sideways onto Hardison’s shoulder as he’d nodded off. Hardison’s hand drifted unconsciously through Parker’s hair where her head rested on Eliot’s other shoulder. Parker found a TV show this time, letting the low rumble of sound fill the silence in the room. If it was too quiet for too long Eliot would wake up, knowing something had changed from when he’d closed his eyes. This way, the autoplay would keep going to the next video until one of them woke up and stopped it. It didn’t take a mastermind to know that they were all going to fall asleep here. A bed would be nice, but there was something comforting about waking up to the flickering glow of the TV with the people you loved curled around you, warm and soft and trusting. Besides, it wasn’t that late. They’d get to the real bed thing eventually, before anybody got too stiff. Well, before Eliot or Hardison got too stiff. It didn’t particularly matter to Parker.

In the morning, Hardison would risk revealing that he could probably survive on his own by making pancakes and scrambled eggs. Parker would again hand Eliot his pills expectantly and make her pleasure known when he’d taken them. They’d listen to Eliot grumble about making a mess as they all ate breakfast in bed and they’d change the sheets as soon as they’d settled him into the living room, so he couldn’t complain about imaginary crumbs later. Eliot would ask them why they couldn’t do things like load the dishwasher and make the bed all the time, and they’d smile fondly at him like he was a little bit simple. It wouldn’t be _special_ if they did it all the time. 

(Also it’s a little fun to rile Eliot up under normal circumstances. And why would they do those things when he’s just going to give in and do them himself anyway. But they don’t say that because it would ruin the game.)


End file.
